


sledgehammer to the heart

by Livinei



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, anyway you know me this is all a big pile of fluffy stuff, i'm literally too apathetic rn to add any other tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 11:31:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinei/pseuds/Livinei
Summary: oh you know, just mozart being cold and spending the night at salieri's and all





	sledgehammer to the heart

**Author's Note:**

> another ficlet by yours truly! these are all standalones btw

“I’m freezing,” Mozart declared as soon Salieri answered the door and let him in. 

“Hi,” Salieri opted for, stepping out of the way and making his way back into the apartment. Mozart grinned and shrugged off his coat, hanging it up and following Salieri into the apartment. 

“Here, I brought you hot chocolate and some panzerotti,” he said, pulling a paper bag of pastries out of his shoulder bag and putting the cup he’d been holding on the dining table, “I was at this Italian café with Nannerl just before coming here and it was good. Well, to me. It might be a disgrace to what they call a panzerotto in Italy and I’m sure you’ve had better while living there but I figured since I was in that place anyway I’d bring you some too.”

“Oh, thank you,” Salieri hummed, meaning it. Mozart tossed his bag onto the couch and busied the room with cheerful, careless chatter while he finished his very late lunch slash early dinner. Mozart was right, Salieri had had better panzerotti, but he’d also had much worse. These were alright. Salieri threw away the paper bag and went to sit on his bed, as that was where Mozart had planted himself, staring up at the ceiling and keeping up a conversation neither of them were really paying attention to. Except that wasn’t entirely true; Salieri had listened. He knew Mozart hadn’t really expected him to, he was just the kind of person to chat to fill the silence. But Salieri had listened anyway. He also noticed Mozart had picked up one of his jackets and put it on, on top of the sweatshirt he was already wearing. Kind of a ridiculous sight really.

“Oh right, this is the composition I wanted you to look at,” Mozart said, cutting off his own sentence as he remembered, and reached for his bag, fishing out a handful of papers. Salieri took what was handed to him and laid down next to Mozart, letting his focus get absorbed in the notes.

 

The next thing Salieri knew was, it was dark. It was dark, and it was warm, and he was groggy. He remembered reading Mozart’s music, remembered going through it several times in fact. Mozart had fallen quiet next to him at some point. It had still been relatively light outside then. He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

Salieri groaned and tried to get up, only to find that that proved to be difficult and evoked a dissatisfied mumble from beside him. That finally made him properly open his eyes, and if ever there was a moment Salieri simply didn’t know what to say, now was that moment. Mozart was next to him, arms wrapped tightly around Salieri’s torso, cheek pressed against his chest and his whole body was as physically close as possible. He’d also managed to pull one corner of the blanket from under them over his shoulders. When Salieri propped himself up on his elbows - that was as close to sitting up as he could get - Mozart at last opened his eyes, looking as sleepy as Salieri felt. 

“Um…” Salieri started, eloquently, sporting a confused frown, “What’s going on?” 

_ Why are you wrapped around me, _ is what he meant, but decided to go with a broader question. The whole thing wasn’t uncomfortable, no, he wouldn’t call it that. But it was confusing. And he’d finally started almost successfully ignoring how his heart sped up whenever Mozart did  _ anything _ , and him now up and cuddling Salieri wasn’t helping that at all. He refused to think about how close their faces were.

“You’re warm. I’m cold. It’s cold,” Mozart replied, not moving an inch. Salieri rolled his eyes, grasping for some sort of normalcy. 

“It’s not that cold, it’s 18 degrees in here.”

“What, Fahrenheit?” 

He probably shouldn’t laugh at that. But he couldn’t help it. When another attempt to stand up was met with a tightened hold and a mumbled protest, Salieri looked down on Mozart with a look that was equal parts amused and exasperated.

“Look, freeze for all I care but I need to get up, I’m hungry. Including the stuff you brought me earlier I’ve barely eaten today.” 

“You’re a cruel person, Antonio Salieri, to yourself and others,” Mozart groaned, draping his left arm over his forehead and allowing Salieri to get out of the bed, sitting up himself the next moment as well.

“Are you gonna kick me out?” he called after Salieri, pulling the corner of the blanket more tightly over his shoulders, “because I’d rather just stay here.” Salieri looked back at him from the doorway, and let out a surrendering sigh. Between himself, he was probably never going to make this man leave this home against his own will. However, Mozart didn’t need to know that.

“Are you gonna sleep in those?” he asked instead of answering, looking at the other man’s full attire critically. Charming as his stupid little face may be, Salieri was not going to sleep next to someone wearing jeans to bed,  _ and _ two jackets. 

“Um, do you expect me to strip in these sub-zero temperatures?” Mozart retorted, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “I mean, if you have like two more blankets then I might ditch some of these clothes but…”

“I do, actually, but suit yourself.” 

“No, no, bring them out. Really. I’m dying. Also, I’m gonna raid your closet.” 

Salieri gave an acknowledging hum and gestured towards where the extra blankets were before going the kitchen. He was  _ not _ thinking about this. There was no chance he was ever thinking about any of this, no, Salieri preferred being alive and he was fairly certain that if he started thinking about what was happening he might just die. This was just another one of these Mozart things that he figured was best to just go along with and then never address again.

Ten minutes of eating and two minutes of stalling later Salieri finally surrendered to his fate and headed back into the bedroom. Mozart was barely visible from under the mountain of blankets he’d gathered up.

“What did you do?” Salieri laughed, failing not to. This seemed to become a recurring thing, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Shut up, I had to survive without you and it wasn’t easy!” Mozart huffed, shuffling to see past the blankets. Salieri pulled his own hoodie off over his head and turned off the light.

“Fair warning, I absolutely will latch onto you as soon as you’re within reach.” 

“I figured,” Salieri sighed, climbing into the bed where Mozart immediately restored his earlier position. It had never been that hard to not think. He focused on Mozart’s breathing instead.

It was hard to tell how many minutes passed before Mozart quietly spoke up, but it couldn’t have been a lot, considering they were both still awake.

“Antonio, do you think that in the countries with right-to-left writing they type the smiley face mirrored? Like (:?”

“What? I don’t know, maybe. Go to sleep,” Salieri said, befuddled.

“You smell nice,” Mozart mumbled, as if it had been an idea he had mulled over and found interesting to share. Salieri took a few seconds to process if he heard correctly.

“That’s what I’d call a weird thing to say while you’re in my bed and clinging to me like a python.”

Mozart snorted. 

“I mean, I’m just telling the truth. And really, would it have been better if I had told you in the morning instead? Over breakfast like  _ “By the way, seeing as I slept next to you last night and all I couldn’t help but notice you smell really good. Oh, would you pass me the milk?” _ ”

Salieri gave it a considering half-second and shook his head, “No, that would be worse. But why would you say it in the first place?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Mozart asked back, like  _ he _ was confused, “If I have something nice to somebody, I say it.” 

_ No thinking, stop thinking,  _ Salieri reminded himself.

“Alright, well. Thanks, I guess.” 

“You’re welcome. But still, what about those smileys? It’s important!”

“ _ Goodnight _ , Wolfgang.” 

 

The morning arrived too early and too loudly with a street maintenance truck making its rounds, announcing its existence to the world with a beeping that could wake the dead. When Salieri opened his eyes, not particularly happy about the awakening, Mozart was already looking at him, also seemingly having just been pulled out of his sleep.

“Hey. It’s morning. You still smell good.”

Salieri closed his eyes eyes again. He needed at least half an hour and a coffee before dealing with these kind of statements from Mozart. It was honestly quite inconsiderate of him to start being bizarrely adorable the second Salieri woke up. 

See that was the thing. Everything would be a whole lot  _ easier _ if falling in love with Mozart was a one-time thing. But it wasn’t. It felt like he was falling in love again and again every single day, it hitting him anew like a sledgehammer to the heart with each smile where there should have been tears, each new composition with too many notes in complicated arrangements that he excitedly brought for Antonio to review, each little kindness that Mozart gave without a second thought, not expecting anything in return because that was the kind of person he was. And it was exhausting.

“God, you are so weird,” he muttered, dragging his free hand across his face. The other arm was pinned under the goober next to him, and as far as he was concerned it could stay that way. 

Mozart grinned right back at him.

“What? It’s not weird for  _ me _ !”

“You tell all of your friends that they smell good when you’re laying with them in bed?” 

“Would it make you feel special if I said no?” Mozart asked, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Probably not.” But really, Salieri wasn’t sure  _ what  _ he’d feel. He didn’t want to find out.

“Haha! I’ll just be honest then. This might surprise you but while my circle of friendly acquaintances is big, the number of people I actually consider close friends is pretty modest. So, I gotta say I haven’t exactly had lots of occasions to find out whether I would.”

Salieri gave an acknowledging hum, forgetting himself staring after that. Interestingly enough, even though there were still some remains of sleepiness in Mozart’s eyes, they were surprisingly bright, he noticed. Mozart was clearly better at waking up at ungodly morning hours than he was. “Ungodly” being, in this case, six. 

That’s when things got surreal. Because Salieri could almost swear that the words that suddenly came out of Mozart’s mouth were _can I kiss you?_ and that was absurd. That didn’t happen. He might not be awake after all. 

Mozart interpreted his silence his own way.

“I mean, it’s fine if you say no, I just-” he started, propping himself up on one elbow and seeming like it wasn’t a big deal, like it was just an offer that could be brushed off from the start. To someone else this facade might have seemed genuine. But even now Salieri could see through that. It mattered. Mozart cared, and he was nervous. Nervous because Salieri hadn’t said anything, he realized _. _

“Wait, wait. What?” Salieri finally managed to say, cutting Mozart off. “Kiss  _ me _ ?”

“Yeah.”

“You.”

“Uh, yeah?” 

“...Why?” 

“Because I want to,” Mozart looked genuinely confused at that question, but more relaxed now that Salieri hadn’t outright said no. “So, may I?”

He couldn’t say anything. His voice was gone, and his head was spinning, but he looked at Mozart, and something in his face must have changed because it was answer enough.

And Mozart kissed him. 

And it was soft, and playful, and sweet, and tasted like sunshine, and it was over entirely too soon even though his lungs were burning.

If he  _ had _ been asleep before, he was definitely wide awake now.

“Do you do  _ that _ with all your friends?” Salieri’s voice was shaky and he didn’t feel like he could breathe at all but he couldn’t bring himself to care right now.

“No,” Mozart replied, a happy little grin taking hold as he rested his forehead on Antonio’s shoulder,

“Just the people I love.”

Salieri might let himself think after all.

**Author's Note:**

> ALrighty so, this is probably not the most eloquent thing you've ever read and it's certainly not one of my best works but not for the lack of trying! i did try hard to make it better somehow but i guess it just wasn't one of those times. the end i think is a little better because i wrote that today but i wasnt able to improve the rest of it. hope you enjoy it anyway! 
> 
> (also i did mean 18 degrees Celsius btw, in case that was unclear)


End file.
